


BUILDING AN EMPIRE

by asiriuswriter, srk1o3



Category: uhaul
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-08-26 17:52:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16686295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asiriuswriter/pseuds/asiriuswriter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/srk1o3/pseuds/srk1o3
Summary: When you're on the way to success, you meet many people.This is the journey. To fame and fortune & all the obstacles that threaten to capsize the ship of success.





	1. Chapter 1

Forgiveness just wasn't happening today. 

It'd been business as usual. Kimberly had spent two minutes of her precious three hours off vacuuming cat hair from her sofa before she flopped down, exhausted. God, she couldn't wait to give Stacy her two weeks notice. Working for the big man was never meant to be in her cards, but here she was, supporting herself and Flopsy and Mopsy. 

The white, fluffy female peered up at her with big, blue eyes.

"Get," Kimberly hissed, extending her leg forward to shove it away without a care. Mopsy didn't move. She was used to this. Kimberly rolled her eyes. "I just sat down." The cat stared unblinkingly. 

"GET," this time, the cat stood up at the sound of her booming voice. "GO!" Again, her leg extended and  _finally_ the stupid thing ran off. She rolled her eyes again and snatched her laptop off the side table. Her entire house smelled strangely of old ladies. Ever since she had that  _stupid_ bulk order for a ridiculous candle that she chose fucked up on by adding "antiques" scent to instead of "ozone," her house smelled like an old mansion-turned-museum. Whatever, it'd fade eventually. 

Kimberly reached again across her side table; this time grasping a Macintosh Apple Yankee candle. She ignited it and watched the wick catch, the flame traveling to the hard wax. The scent came on gradually and didn't  _quite_ cover the overwhelming smell of something distinctly  _old,_ but it would have to do.

She set it on the table again and then popped open her laptop. After checking Facebook (she had 3 notifications from CAT FACTS! THE GROUP), she moved the cursor to her  _most frequently visited_ tab to open her e-mail. 

Six new e-mails.

 **EMAIL NUMBER 1-**  
  
_Hi,_  
_Can I pls have a free candle? im very poor but want a candle. it would cheer me up._  
  
Kimberly heaved a sigh and began typing a response immediately.

_Hi,_  
_Ummm... No. I'm not giving away free things, sorry. Just so you know, I would have to pay for this out of pocket and it's not cool to ask people that. Please don't contact me again._  
Best,  
_Kim_

**EMAIL NUMBER 2-** _  
_

_Hello,_  
I recently ordered your Nutcracker candle and I LOVE it so much but the wick disappeared? I'm so sorry to bother you, but is there any way I can get a replacement or you can help me figure out what to do? :) If not, sorry to bother you! Love your store!  
Thank you!,  
Jenna

Kimberly pinched the bridge of her nose.

 _Hi,_  
I have the instructions on how to handle this on my site. Wait for a complete pool to form. Let me know if you have other question.  
Kim

**EMAIL NUMBER 3-**

GREAT. It was the goddamn people from the bulk order. Kimberly's eyes were about to roll right out of her head as she opened it up, knowing these bitches would have _something_ to say about  _something_ again. With a sigh, she began reading.

Sweat beaded along her forehead. Her heartbeat jumped to her throat. Her entire body began to tremble.

_Lawsuit._

As she got to the end, she slammed her computer shut, grabbed the Yankee candle, and threw it as hard as she could towards her cat. Mopsy flew out of the way and the candle broke into a thousand pieces. Fortunately, the swift movement through the air extinguished the flame before the pieces of glass settled in a pile with chunky bits of wax.

"SEE? IT EVEN HAPPENS WITH YANKEE CANDLES."

* * *

"Mmmbop dop ba dooo WOP DOO IT UP ba DOO bop, DOP BA dooOOooo ayee  EEya!"

Dennis Salazar's hands tapped out the rhythm against the steering wheel, his head bopping to the beat as he turned down Salazar Road 18 (yes, after his booming business success, he purchased an entire town- called  _Dennis-_ and named each road after himself). 

The song came to a slow stop as he pulled into his designated spot at work, a malicious smile forming on his face. 

A purely golden empire stretched out before him, vast and unending. The building was 18,000 feet tall and 10,000 yards wide and surrounded by lush, pure diamond trees and plants. For many miles, it was all the eye could see. Thirteen majestic guards awaited his arrival but Dennis threw up a single finger, indicating that he needed just a moment. 

Dennis withdrew his special edition, Swavorski-encrusted, deluxe iPhone 15X from his pocket. 

"Siri, call Phil."

"CALLING PHIL..."

Repetitious ringing filled his car. With the time difference, it was still just 5 in the morning in California. But that was just fine. This was a part of his morning routing.

"Heya, you've reached Philip. You've missed your OPPORTUNITY to talk to me! So, please, friends and neighbors (AND NOT DENNIS- ha! Nor anyone trying to sell me stuff, get out of here), leave a message after the..." There was a mechanical beep that gritted on Dennis's nerves. His lips turned into a sneer.

"Hello,  _Phillip._ This is Dennis Salazar calling to remind  _you_ that while you have Tyra Banks,  _we_ have businesses with well over 100,000 subscribers. Do not cross me. Do not try to beat me. You. Will. Be. Crushed. This is your last warning."

Dennis paused to shove a toothpick between the crevices of his teeth, removing pieces of the banana he'd consumed on his way. He stared at the tiny, white pinprick on the tip of the sharp piece of wood and then chucked it out the window. Harvey, GUARD NUMBER 8, immediately cleaned it up. 

"I've been watching you sleep, Philip. I know what you see. Those nightmares? They are just the tip of the iceberg. I will not ask you again to step down. Participation in this little... silly...  _acceleration_ program is rewarding you with the product of children's crafts, trendy minimalist watches, and too many cookies. Oh, and a pregnancy box? Please. Do you think you will go far with--" Dennis paused, his eyes caught on a familiar logo. 

A dancing book.

Surrounded by a circle. 

With that font. That perfect, idyllic font that he had never,  _ever_ been able to find. 

If this was the company that he managed to caption, his entire life's savings would go down the tubes. 

Dennis hung up without another word.

 

 


	2. Learning How To Live

Juan had stumbled into the picture, a young gangster if ever there was one. The last thing he wanted to do was blame his ways on his parents, but it wasn't like he could brag about his dads either. Dads... he hardly thought Philip and Dante deserved the title. Still, Juan recalled the abuse like it was yesterday, and in many ways it _was_ yesterday...

"Dad, I can't.. I can't _close_ properly.."

No answer. Juan would always wait and wait and wait. Finally Philip would eye him warily and sigh. "Talk to your other dad. I'm busy." 

Juan had never before seen a box that couldn't close. The whole point of boxes were to _close_. He couldn't breathe. If Dad no.. _Philip.._ if Philip didn't care... then... 

"Dad... Dad!" Juan tugged on Dante's sleeve. (His name isn't Dad... it's _Dante_ ,  Juan thought to himself.) "I can't _close_!"

"You're fine." Dante said. 

Juan felt as though he'd hyperventilate. He peered over his father's shoulder... and his eyes widened. He caught a hint of an image that... confused him. What was that? What- "Dad, what is that?"

Dante sighed, minimizing his YouTube session. "What?- _This_?"

"Yes." Juan stammered. "THAT. What is that?" It looked just like he looked but... it was brighter. 

"Oh." Dante sighed. "This is your birth design. It's an e-mail from the company you'll be representing." 

"Dad- that's not me. I don't... I don't look a thing like that." Juan panicked all over again, tears filling his eyes. He knew then and there that he would never be good enough. "Dad... FIX ME!"

"There's nothing _wrong_ with you except your damn price, you cheap piece of shit. Now leave my sight. We're hardly making any profit off you." Dante resumed his YouTube session and Juan couldn't breathe. 

"I can't even _close_ , let alone look like _that_." His heart pounded deep within his hollowed chest, but Dante turned then- the promise of violence in his eyes. Juan took the hint, tumbling out of the room to find a darkened corner he'd fit into. He began to cry, a silent and hysterical mess. And now all he could think was on top of everything else --- he was cheap. Practically _worthless_. 

* * *

 

"Hey, Juan! Welcome to your new home!" Ricky piped excitedly, giving Juan a once over. "Hm." He added thoughtfully. He didn't exactly sound _impressed_.

"Y-you know my name..." Juan whispered self-consciously. He could just _tell_ Ricky was judging him. Ricky was so bright and _completely_ closed. There wasn't even a question as to whether or not he was closed. Juan felt himself shaking (even more than usual.) 

"Yeah, of course I know your name! I've been expecting you. Heard you're manning the helm for Winter." Ricky wrapped an arm around Juan, leading him into HQ.

"No." Juan immediately interjected, unable to hide the sadness. He noticed that all of Ricky's colors were bright- not just his logo. His social media colors were brighter than the goddamned sun. "I uh, I'm just.. a one time thing. I just. I'm... I'm _cheap_. That's all."

Ricky's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Juan smiled sadly. "That's the only reason why I'm here." He swallowed and gave a little shrug, looking back down. 

Ricky began to shake his head. "No, no- that isn't true. You were quite expensive actually! But we needed you because you're _bigger_."

"I'm... I'm bigger?" Juan glanced up for a second, then fixed his gaze back downward.

"Yes! You will fit so much more than I can." Ricky gave Juan's edge a reassuring squeeze and Juan shivered from the contact. 

"Thanks, I guess..." He mumbled, unsure. 

"So, Arka." Ricky suggested. 

"What about them?" Juan sounded very distant. 

Ricky hesitated, before smiling just a bit. "How was it there? I'm from Box-Up!" 

Box-Up... Juan had heard of them. He felt himself gulp. The boxes from Box-Up were so well off, so rich and had it so easy. Resentment filled his dimensions. "I heard it's nice at Box-Up. Arka is... pretty slummy." 

A wary look filled Ricardo's bright eyes. Juan could tell he was trying to think of the right thing to say. "Box-Up is _very_  nice." Ricky verified, giving Juan's shoulder a gentle pat. "We sort of get coddled, there though. Later on, well. Sometimes the world is tough and we have a hard time handling it. Get beat up easy. _You_ , though." Ricky paused, meeting Juan's eyes. "I have a feeling you will be able to handle it quite well, my friend." 

 _Friend_... Juan caught himself in an easy smile at that. "Thank you, Ricky." 

"Of course." Ricky said easily. "How about a little crinkle? I'm parched."

"That sounds nice." Juan said, suddenly feeling quite thirsty himself. 

"Red or gray?" Ricky asked.

"Gray please." Juan said with a small grin. 

* * *

 

"So... I'm really sorry, Dustin, but I just found out I have plans tonight and I'm gonna have to cancel on you." Linda said. 

Dustin blinked his eyes, staring slightly to the left of Linda. 

She attempted to move into his line of vision but his eyes just could not focus on her. "Dustin..?"

"Hey there," he began stoically. A forced grin appeared on his pudgy face. 

Linda nodded sympathetically, grateful that he had registered what she said and had started to process it. Dustin was always better with online communication. 

"That sounds good. I'll see what I can do. Just let me know if you ever want to reschedule." He turned away from her and began to walk away, heading straight for the exit of Chilis. 

He could hear Linda call out for him. Something that sounded like his name and the word _wait_. But all Dustin could think was 'I am electric.' His heart sank and sank and sank as he found his way outside. The night was cold. He breathed heavily and closed his eyes. The sidewalk felt the like the bottom of the ocean. 

He lifted his chin and caught sight of a street lamp. He felt _sick_. And then he shot a glance over his shoulder, realizing that Linda might try to catch up with him. He hustled over to silver Prius and slid into the driver's seat, clutched the wheel and if he had more balls he'd scream. He'd scream right there in his economical car. He'd scream into the space closing him off from the world. 

But all he did was breathe. His crisp blue shirt felt _too_ tight. Damnit. DAMNIT. All those Rollos. All those cookies. _DAMNIT_.

He began to drive. He needed out. Needed his cozy home. His favorite fuzzy socks and a tall glass of hot chocolate awaited him. 

 _Alone_. _You're all alone_.

Dustin closed his eyes, trying to escape the thoughts, but when he snapped them open he felt himself swerving off the road- a knee jerk response to how he'd let his car veer off course. He shouted in agony and narrowly missed driving right into a goddamn ditch. "DARN IT." He cursed aloud, throwing his car door open to eject himself. He paced around for a bit, thankful the rest of the road was practically empty. "Darn it... darn it.." he chanted, trembling hands fondling around for his blackberry. 

He called his friend. He needed to _change_. He needed it. And he needed _help_.


	3. Chapter 3

He placed his hand on the sword dangling from his hip and pressed his back against the cold exterior of a metal roll-up door. There was not a single trace of nerves visible in his expression. In fact, he exemplified a cool calm that some might say was borderline psychotic. 

_No one should be this calm._

But Shufeng was  _this calm._

He inhaled a deep, silent breath, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. The sounds of nervous laughter echoed through the long halls on the second floor of the UHaul storage building in which he worked. A wheel squeaked and he could hear distant voices wondering if there might be a serial killer lurking in one of the units.

Little did they know.

LITTLE DID THEY KNOW.

They approached faster and with the speed and agility of a cat, Shufeng disappeared around a corner before they caught him red-handed. As soon as he heard the loud noises of them opening up their unit, Shufeng took advantage of the distraction and opened a unit himself.

_WEEOOOWEEOOOWEEOOOWEEEOOO....!!!!_

Fuck. The damn security alarm.

Good thing it was good for nothing but a cheap scare on those easily impressionable young ladies.

Inside the unit, Shufeng's victim lay splayed on a metal table beneath the dim lights of a lantern he'd rigged in the electricity-less storage unit. He slammed the door shut before the alarm stopped, glad that he had chosen a particularly dark corner that was out of view of the cameras. Even though he had measured and learned the exact moment they caught each inch of this place and Jamal was the only one on (that lazy, good-for-nothing), he liked the extra security measure assuring he would not be seen.

"Shufeng like wind. Shufeng like agile cat," he whispered to himself. 

His victim was a young, blonde man with massive glasses which Shufeng had removed the first night he'd been kept here with a slap on the face.  _"These stupid. You look like dumb dumb."_

Shufeng shivered, wishing he had brought with him a heavier jacket. These cold evenings were only going to get worse as winter wore on. The blonde man's right eye leaked a single tear.

He snarled and smacked him. "You stop it. Why you have mannequin and hand?" Shufeng asked. He set his sword down on the floor and pulled in a pair of rubber gloves, allowing them to snap against his wrist. "I remove tape. You be QUIET or your friend will be back."

Shufeng yanked the piece of tape covering the gag on the man's mouth free before untying the gag as well. 

"I told you," the man gasped, a little too loud for Shufeng's taste. He pressed a finger threateningly to his lips, growling lowly. "I told you," the man repeated, trying to control his volume. "I'm a seamstress and... my husband is a doctor... we have weird things and it's... we don't want to store them in our  _home."_

Shufeng wasn't buying it. He had seen too many people come and go in this place, too many people who committed atrocities that were  _so sinful_ he dare not think of them now.

"Your husband not know about this unit," Shufeng said confidently, squinting in curiosity.

The man shook his head against the restraints holding him down. "No. Not yet. I was going to clean out our office and surprise him..."

"He not looking for you."

The man released a stifled sob and Shufeng was  _forced_ to put the gag back on. He couldn't be caught by those suspicious girls. They'd be here for a few more minutes, at least, carrying large boxes to and from their Prius. He didn't understand them, but they didn't prove a threat yet. 

"You think about what I say to you. You think about it long and hard. Or I kill you."

The man screamed against the gag and all at once, Shufeng reached into his pocket and covered his face with a rag. The man instantly lost consciousness and all was quiet.

* * *

"Mama, per favore... A photo of me and my new book box?" Sara asked. She wore a long cloak and baggy skirt. A heavy scarf dangled over her tiny neck. At 4'8, she drowned in her clothing and her mother was ashamed. They were  _Italian,_ for Leonardo Da Vinci's sake. They were known for being a stylish people. 

On the floor, her young daughter had set up a rather intricate scene of sheets and books and cut out papers and a black box. She had no idea what she was up to, but she heaved a sigh and gave a curt nod. It was easy to forget how her own mother hadn't supported her dreams. She'd long since vowed to do whatever she could for her daughter.

"Si. Dove hai bisogno di me?" she asked, climbing onto a small ladder with Sara's camera.

"Si. Right there is good, mama." 

Sara laid down on the sheet, curling her legs up in fetal position. She grasped a small string that lead to the box. 

He mother snapped a photo.

* * *

 

Juan came alive for a moment. He sputtered and coughed.

It had been...

... _such_ a long journey. And now, here he was, in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. He'd seen so many things, been  _touched_ by so many people. He'd been a lone boy from Brooklyn, but he'd traveled all over the whole world now. Memories of the Swiss alps, Big Ben, the Leaning Tower, transfer airport after transfer airport....

Now he resided in a small village in Italy. He'd been asleep until he heard a sudden  _click_ of a camera. Juan glanced around. 

Endless beige and brown fabric encircled him. Dark hair concealed by a hat was in his face. A string lay limply against him. 

What the....?

A flash went off and Juan blinked up at a woman yelling in a language he didn't quite understand. A tiny girl lay next to him.

"Sara Poppins!"

He threw up on himself.

Ricky had been wrong. This life was not going to be okay. 

What was he going to do?

 


End file.
